


Every Day We Wait

by An_obsessed_author



Category: Broadway - Fandom, Disney - Fandom, Musicals - Fandom, Newsies, newsies the musical
Genre: F/M, Newsboys Revolt, Newsies - Freeform, oc fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-03-27 15:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19015267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/An_obsessed_author/pseuds/An_obsessed_author
Summary: "Every day we wait is a day we lose, and the things we do today will be tomorrow's news." - Once and For All, Newsies.It's 1900, and the Newsboys Strike has been over for several months now.  However, in the aftermath of the Newsies' victory over Pulitzer, the chaos ensued created some oversights in the Newsies' promises to the kids of New York. The Newsies won their war, but the working conditions in sweatshops and factories remain the same. That's why Sarah Janssen, a waitress at Jacobi's deli and seamstress, is unsatisfied with the results of the strike. Follow Sarah in her quest to convince the Newsies to rally, yet again,  for the rights of others, especially the rights of female and POC workers, in New York City. Watch as she encounters characters such as Specs, Albert, Romeo, Davey, Crutchie, Katherine, Jack Kelly, and the famously obnoxious, cigar loving flirt, Race Higgins.  An inspired sequel to Newsies the Musical, all characters belong to Disney, OC is my own. RacexOC fanfiction. Some language, some violence, mild sexual themes.





	1. The Streets of Manhattan

Yelling. Shouting. Loud voices of bakers, farmers, and other sellers at the early morning market echoing through the streets. The clippity clop of horse shoes on cobbled pavement keep a steady rhythm throughout the city. Thick smog from factories wafts through the air, rising up above the chimneys to unexplored heights.  
This is how the city of New York wakes up. Now, for those rich folks who have the luxury of glass windows and sturdy oak doors, this side of New York doesn’t exist. They don’t experience the early morning glory of choking on smoke from an oven beneath the fire escape you’re sleeping on. They wake up to blissful silence, while you are awoken to the sounds of a bustling city, one that never truly sleeps.  
Sarah Janssen knew this all too well. As she awoke, she imagined what it would be like to sleep behind closed doors. To feel safety, security, comfort, and peace. To feel peace, even for a brief moment, was a rare occurrence for a working-class member of New York. She arose from her pallet in the corner of a roof of an abandoned warehouse, three blocks from her second job at Jacobi’s Deli. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and leaned on the wall adjacent to her makeshift home, gazing out at the Manhattan skyline. “Ik mis je, vader. Ik zal proberen je trots te maken. ik beloof.” (I miss you, father. I will make you proud. I promise) 

Another morning in Manhattan. She leaned her head back, drinking in the view of the city, and breathed in deeply, savoring the cool morning air, and the higher quality of air above the city. “Well, there’s no good in loitering here, any more than I already am by squatting here.” After pulling on her shoes, she briskly walked to the other side of the building, peering to see the time on a clock tower east of the harbor. “Oh shit! Is that the time already? Oh man, I’ve gotta split if I’m not gonna get my ass beat by Roach today.” Jim Roach was the main supervisor at the East Manhattan Launderers, her primary, and least favorite job. He was also a stiff-necked jerk who loved to discipline the laundry workers for the smallest offense, especially those who rejected his advances. 

“Just another day in the life of a broke teenager in Manhattan,” She thought to herself as she descended from the roof, “Hustling day in and day out, working nonstop, just to stay alive.” She paused, remembering what her father used to say about Manhattan. “America is land of opportunity, land of the free. You are free to work yourself to death or starve with no food. You have the opportunity to work or die. I am grateful, child, do not mistake me, but this is hard life. Stay strong, young one. We work for you to not have to one day. You will get good education and live good life here.” “So much for not having to work,” she mused, “I’m barely 17 and already working 13-hour days. Working at the launderers from 8:00 to 4:00, waitressing at the deli from 5:00 to 10:00. I barely have time to eat, or the money to buy food, let alone time to go to school. Besides, I’m sure I’m way too behind now to catch up anyway, so there’s no point in worrying about going back.” 

She shook her head, putting her thoughts of the past and her education behind her. She stepped off the last rung of the ladder of the building’s fire escape, and looked around, checking for any sign that someone had seen her descend. No one there, as usual. She straightened her dress, hoping to smooth out the wrinkles. She failed. Her faded sky-blue dress was worn threadbare, with a Peter Pan collar, which was now an off shade of white. Her ivory apron covered the frazzled hem of her dress and covered a small hole at her waist. Her other, cleaner apron was folded neatly, waiting back on the roof by her bed, for her to change into for her waitressing job. After smoothing her dress as best she could, she snuck around the corner of the warehouse and strolled down the street towards her first job. 

As she headed towards work, she spotted an all too familiar sight at the upcoming street corners: Newsies. Usually, she was well past these street corners by the time the Newsies came out. However, because she was running late today, they arrived at about the same time.  
“Extra, Extra! Read all about it! Trolley accident in Queens kills dozens! Local police suspect the crash was intentional!” Sarah couldn’t see this Newsie’s face, but she recognized his thick accent almost immediately. The New York twang he spoke with, and the strange formation of his vowels, thanks to the presence of a cigar in his mouth. A man handed the Newsie a coin and took a paper.. As the man continued on, passing Sarah, she stole a look at the real headline: “Egg Prices Increased by $0.03” She rolled her eyes. “Trolley accident? Really?” she scoffed, “These Newsies are the most dishonest, swindling...” 

“Well, sweetheart, we gotta makes a living somehow. Coronas are expensive.” She whirled around to find herself face to face with the grinning Newsie: Race Higgins. 

“I know about making a living, sweetheart,” she remarked sarcastically, “But I prefer to make my living with a little integrity.” He mock gasped and took off his hat. 

“Madam, I am very sorry to have disturbed yous. I am ashamed that you could ever thinks I was not, an honest gentleman.” He winked charmingly, “But I promise, with all my heart, I have integrity.” 

“Wonderful, then show it.” She began to walk away, when he stepped in front of her, looking down into her eyes with the feigned expression of deep sorrow and moral conviction. 

“No, no ma’am, I mean it. Truly, I do. Ya taught me a great lesson about the world, and…” He inched closer to her, as his features morphed from a shameful disposition to cocky flirtatiousness. “How I oughts to behave myself.” She shoved him and started off. 

“Well, I’ll be darned, that was quick! I knows ya couldn’t resist laying your hands on me, but I thought it might take more schmoozing than that!” He brushed off his chest, chuckling and jogged to catch up to her. “Tell me, gorgeous, where ya heading?” 

“None of your business, leave me alone” She muttered. 

“Oh, come on now darling, ‘llow me to escort ya to your destination,” he exclaimed, beaming with faux pride, “A fine lady such as yourself should not be travelling unaccompanied.” 

“If I were a fine lady, which I’m not, I would rather travel alone than with you.” She huffed. 

“Ouch, princess, that one hurt..” 

“DON’T CALL ME THAT” She spun around to glare at him with glowering eyes. 

“Ooooh, whoo!” Race whooped. “Struck a nerve there, didn’t I, princess? Wanna tell me the story be’ind that?” 

“No, I don’t.” She spoke through gritted teeth. She was almost at the shop and didn’t want to spend another second with this annoying boy. The place that she usually dreaded approaching now seemed to her more like a safe haven. “Fuck off, and leave me alone.” 

Hearing that type of language from her apparently shocked him. His jaw dropped slightly and his eyes widened, but he quickly recovered and gave her a mischievous grin. 

“Whatever ya say, your highness. Ya know, royals have some of the most refined manners ‘f speaking in the woild. I could just listen to ‘em talk al’ day. Well, see ya around, beautiful! Don’t cheat on me while I’m gone, ya hear? It would jus break my heart to see my girl flirting with another man.” And with that remark, he tipped his hat and (finally) left her alone. 

“I’m not yous…I mean ‘your’…how dare you…you arrogant boy!” She spun on her heel and quickly ambled away from him, seething with anger. She arrived at the front door of the East Manhattan Launderers, and checked the clock on the wall, “Damn it,” she muttered. She was 4 minutes late, thanks to her musing on the roof, and that cheeky bastard of a Newsie who had bothered her on her way to work. She grimaced, imagining Roach’s response to her tardiness, but she breathed in deeply and opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! And welcome to "Every Day We Wait." I am new to this website and to writing fanfiction, but I'm excited to share my work on this platform with you. I began writing this story in December of 2018, posting everything on Wattpad. (the only writing site I had heard of.) However, after discovering Archive of Our Own, thanks to a dear friend of mine, this site will become my main platform. Thank you so much for giving this a read. Please leave a comment down below if you enjoyed it. I would so appreciate your feedback. After I upload everything I have written so far, I will continue to update every Saturday. Have a wonderful day


	2. The Sweatshop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains some violence, and themes of sexual abuse. If you are a survivor of any sexual trauma or abuse, these mentions may be triggering for you. Please read with caution.

The foul smell of lye and sweat washed over Sarah's senses before the door was completely open. She grimaced at the familiar smell but walked through the customer area of the shop into the main work room in the back. She made her way carefully through each section, avoiding the other supervisors who might question her about her tardiness. As she walked through the shop, she examined every scene that passed her eyes, as she did every day. Hundreds of people crowded into small rooms. Dark, damp ceilings with little light provided. Men, women and children with exhaustion and pain in their eyes, slaving over pieces of clothing and fabrics. The Launderers was a multi faceted business. It provided laundering services to the public, but also made, sold, and mended clothing. Sarah made and mended clothing. Her mother taught her to sew when she was just a little girl, and that skill had proved pretty useful. As Sarah sneaked by supervisors, her heart sank as she watched the other workers toiling. It hurt her to simply walk to work and tolerate these conditions, but she felt she had little choice.   
She finally made it to the mending section and jogged to her corner where Anna and Camila were already working, scanning the room with concern in their eyes. As soon as Sarah stepped into view, relief flooded their expressions.  
"Sarah! Where have you been? You had us worried!"  
"I'm sorry, I woke up late this morning..." She fibbed, not wanting to rant to her friends about the obnoxious Newsie. Anna was an incredible meddler, who loved to shove her friends at any boy that came their way. Her long strawberry blonde hair was pulled up into a messy knot on the back of her head, and her sea-green eyes flashed with mischief as she turned to Camila with a knowing smile.  
"Oh crap," Sarah said internally, "Anna knows I'm lying." Sarah was usually an incredible liar. For someone too poor to gamble, she had a very convincing poker face. However, Sarah's skills as a liar magically disappeared whenever the lie was directed to Anna or Camila. Anna smirked, her freckles illuminated under the dim, flickering lights above, and turned back to her task at hand. Camila smiled reassuringly at Sarah, and then also turned back to her work. Camila was shyer than Anna, sweet and endearing. Her topaz eyes shimmered as they glanced back to the open area of the shop, scanning for anyone who could overhear her words.  
"Roach hasn't made his rounds here yet. He got...distracted...in the washing section."  
Sarah rolled her eyes, but then let out a breath of relief. Roach getting "distracted" usually meant that he was shamelessly "flirting" a.k.a. harassing the female workers. She felt awful for rejoicing that Roach had not witnessed her come in late, because he was bothering some woman, but she couldn't deny that she was happy to not be caught.  
"Well, ladies. Ready to finally get started?" Anna asked sarcastically, pointing her eyes playfully at Sarah.  
"Ready, I guess," Sarah chuckled, "What's up first today?"  
"Nothing unusual, several pairs of trousers with holes in the knees, a couple of button downs that need buttons replaced, and a couple of specialty dresses that need alterations." Camila informed her cheerily.  
"Why people stopped learning to fix their own clothes is beyond me, I mean, really?" Anna huffed, "Look at these trousers, it's a tiny hole! A baby could fix these. Why send it anywhere?"  
"Anna, you forget! These clothes are from people too rich to touch dirty, lowly, common things like thread!" Sarah picked up a sewing needle and put on an overexaggerated look of disgust. "Oh! Look at this nasty thing!" she exclaimed in her best pompous British accent, "How dreadfully boring it would be to have to use one of these things? OW! It poked me." The girls burst into giggles but were quickly shushed by the other workers around them.  
"Sheesh, tough crowd." Anna remarked.  
"Well, we better start on these guys, Roach will be here soon, and we want work to be well under way by the time he gets here."  
"Yeah, you're right." Anna admitted. "Let's get started."  
Each girl picked up their tools and sat at their desks to begin mending."  
"Oh, and Sarah?"  
"Yes?" Sarah replied.  
"After work, don't forget to tell Camila and me the real reason you were late today."  
Sarah's eyes went wide, "I did! I was just running late because I slept in and then..."  
"And then you what?" Anna stopped her and leaned forward on her desk. "Was there another reason you were late?" Sarah shook her head, not trusting her voice to respond in a convincing manner.  
"You always were a shit liar. I bet there's a boy involved, look at her face..."  
"Okay, wait a minute, that's not -"   
"Guys!" Camila exclaimed. "Work now, boys later."  
"I'm telling you, there wasn't a boy!" Sarah protested.  
"We will discuss this later," Anna stated, "And I plan to get to the truth."  
Sarah rolled her eyes, for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning, and got to work.  
~ time skip ~  
"Noon thirty break, everyone! You have 20 minutes, no more, but maybe some less, I'm still thinking about it. Go eat."  
At Roach's announcement, the workers got up from their desks and began to chatter.  
"Well, I'm going to go to the restroom. Wanna come with?" Anna asked.  
"I'll go. How about you, Sarah?" Camila replied.  
"I'll catch up to you guys, I want to put our stuff back on the shelf, so we have somewhere to set out our food."  
"Sounds good, we'll be right back."  
"If Anna doesn't start talking to a guy..." Camila added.  
Sarah laughed at Anna's offended expression, as the two girls left for the restroom. She continued picking up tools and fabric and sorting them back into their proper location on the shelf. As she turned around to pick up the last stack of cloth, she found Roach standing right behind her, grinning eerily. His yellowed, misshapen teeth spread into a Cheshire cat grin that could make anyone nervous. But it wasn't his smile that bothered Sarah, or any of the women the most. It was his eyes. He had dark brown eyes, slightly clouded by cataracts, that seemed to bore into your soul. In his eyes, there was a certain hunger. It was a greedy, possessive gaze. It was the gaze which every woman knew to fear in a man, and the look that made most everyone who met Roach take a step back in alarm.  
"Hello, sweetheart. How's it getting along today?" He stepped closer to Sarah and leaned on the desk next to her.  
"Oh, umm. It's good. We're on schedule for the day and everything. I was just picking up, but I'm heading out for break, so..." She tried to walk around him, but he grabbed her arm, making her jump.  
"What's the hurry, sweetheart? Don't be in a rush. You know what? Because you are so special, I'll give you the full 20 minutes for break, huh? Here, let me walk you out."  
"That's okay. My friends are waiting, I can just..."  
"I insist." He squeezed her wrist tighter, and she realized that there was no getting out of this situation without a) causing a scene, and/or b) getting fired. Ideas flashed through her head on how to escape the old man's grasp, but none seemed plausible in the moment.  
"Okay, I guess. To the front is fine." He smiled his crooked smile and released his grip on her wrist. She was relieved for a short moment, before he placed his hand on the center of her back and began walking, almost holding her around her waist, to the doors. Her heart dropped in fear. "This is super uncomfortable, why is his hand there?" she panicked, "It's just three rooms. We walk through three rooms and I'm free. Besides, he wouldn't actually try anything, would he?" They stepped through the first set of doors, leading to the front.  
"Has anyone ever told you, your eyes are exquisite." He added, leaning down to inspect her closer. "Crystal blue. Wow, just beautiful, my wife's eyes aren't near that pretty, you're a lucky little girl." Sarah's heart was pounding in her chest.  
"Umm, thanks. That's...that's nice of you to say." They passed through the second set of doors.  
"And your hair, so smooth." He tilted his head downward and buried his face in her hair. She flinched and tried to pull away, but he grabbed her wrist with his other hand. "Beautiful. Deep brown hair, bright blue eyes...that's a rare combination you know." Every nerve in her body was electrified, screaming for her to pull away from this awful man, to fight him, to escape. But her body felt stiff and frozen with fear. They passed through the third and final set of doors, stepping out onto the street. Sarah took this opportunity to pull out of Roach's grasp.  
"Well, thank you sir, but I have to be going..."  
"Did you really think I wouldn't know?"  
"I'm sorry, what?"  
"Did you really think I wouldn't know that you were late today?"  
"Shit," she thought, "He had seen me."  
"Sir, I'm very sorry, it won't..."  
"Happen again? Oh, I don't care about that! Be late as often as you want!" He laughed heartily, but it was ingenuine and cold.  
"This isn't making any sense." Sarah's mind was racing, her heart pounding in fear. She tried to pull her wrist out of his grasp, but he tightened his grip again, harder than before and grabbed her hair, forcing her to her knees.  
"Being late is a punishable offense, and a perfectly good reason for firing you. If I wanted to, I could fire you right now. There is nothing keeping you here, you understand me?"  
"Why," she gasped, "Why are you doing this?"  
He grinned down at her evilly, "I'd like to propose a deal. You keep your job, you get security. Maybe, you even get moved up, to a better position than before."  
"What's," she fought to get up, but he was too strong. "What's the deal?"  
"The deal is: you become mine. For one night."  
Sarah drew back her head and spat at him. "You disgust me."   
His eyes flashed with anger, and he lifted his hand to strike her, which she had anticipated. As he drew his hand back, she pushed off the ground with her feet, knocking Roach off his balance, and used the momentum to knee him in between his legs. He fell to the ground, groaning in pain. Sarah stumbled back, and then she ran like hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, I know some of you might be a bit disappointed by this chapter because there were no Newsies, especially Race in it. But I promise, next chapter will make it up to you. :) I felt like this scene was super important to the story in establishing Sarah as a character and the conditions in the sweatshop. I can't wait to show you guys what I have planned for the next update, so I'll just keep writing. Happy reading, and have a blessed day!


	3. The Escape

Sarah dashed down the quiet street of the launderers, and, turning the corner, took off running down one of the busiest streets in Manhattan. She ran for her life, dodging lampposts and storefronts and dashing in between people. Adrenaline rushed through her veins. Her flight response, which she had been forced to suppress for so long, was finally taking over. She could hear Roach's angry shouts echoing behind her, and heard the commotion caused by his pursuit. Her feet hit the pavement rhythmically as she raced away, not caring where she was going or how far she went, as long as Roach couldn't touch her. She dashed down several streets until finally, she stopped at a street corner. She was breathing heavily, and she leaned on a lamppost to catch her breath. She listened closely for the sound of Roach's voice but could hear nothing except for the sounds of horses on the street and the beating of her heart in her eardrums.  
She sat down on the pavement and breathed. In, and out. Catching her breath and processing everything that had happened. Her hands shook, and she grasped her wrists, where bruises were already forming. Her eyesight began to blur. She sat there for several minutes: breathing, gasping, and fighting back her tears. She had tried for so long to be strong. Surviving on her own was something she had grown accustomed to over the years, but this? This was different. As a homeless orphan, she knew what helplessness felt like. There was a certain, constant depression weighing on her heart at all times, having lost so much and feeling so alone. But this: being attacked by a grown man, having him prey on her, having him attempt to exploit her poverty to satisfy his sick, adulterous fantasies? That was too much for her to process. She checked her wrists again.  
"Yep," she thought, as she saw the purple shapes forming, marring her skin. "I didn't think that wouldn't leave a mark." For the first time in several months, Sarah began to cry. She let the tears fall, and sat on the edge of the public street, hands in her lap, and hung her head low.  
Suddenly, a long, dark shadow loomed over her, and she started in shock, scrambling backwards.  
"Well, well, well! What 'ave we gots here? How ya doing gorg...oh, hey, are you okay?"  
Race. Of course, he would be the first one to find her. She straightened her back.  
"I'm fine," she replied indignantly, "Please leave me alone."  
"You ain't looking fine, I mean, ya are, Fine, but that's not what I meant." She glared up at him, as he awkwardly stumbled through his heavily accented words. He kneeled down next to her, trying to look into her eyes, to read her expression. She looked down and scooted away from him. When she glanced up again, he was looking at her with confusion, and another expression, that confused her. Concern. Race was looking at her with concern. He sighed deeply and took the cigar out of his mouth.  
"What I means is, you don't look like you're okay. Did something happen?" Silence. Sarah kept her gaze pointed at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.  
"Did ya miss me too much? I bet that's the problem, ain't it? It always is, I've been told I'm a heartbreaker. Everybody just feels nothin' but misery when I'm away."  
Sarah hardened her gaze and tightened her lips to keep from laughing.  
"Oh, come on, you know you wanna laugh. I told that same thing to the guys, you know, and they agreed! Well, mosts of 'em. Jack told me I couldn't be a heartbreaker, because I couldn't attract any female with my chicken legs..."  
That made Sarah burst out laughing. She had tried to contain it, but she just couldn't. Even after all she'd just been through, no, especially because of all she had just been through, she was laughing wholeheartedly. When she busted out laughing, Race grinned widely.  
"There! See, I knew that was it, you just missed me too much, that's the issue."  
She cracked a soft smile.  
"Yeah, I guess so." She stood up and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.  
"Whoa, wait, hol' up, what happened there?"  
"Shit," she cursed internally, he had just seen her wrists.  
"It's nothing, I'm fine." She said, hiding her wrists behind her back.  
"Hey, that ain't nothing." Race stepped closer to her, his eyes dangerously cold. She stepped back, holding out one hand, cautioning him to stay away. Seeing her body language change, his eyes softened, and he held his hands up, cigar in between his fingers, and stepped forward again.  
"That ain't nothing, okay? That looks like yous got roughed up, okay? Lemme see."  
She hesitated, scanning him up and down, searching for any sign of insincerity in his voice, his words, his gestures. But she could find none. So, she skeptically offered her hands to him. He smiled reassuringly (and cheekily too, as always), put his cigar back in his mouth, and took her wrists in his hands. She flinched a little at the contact, but his hands were gentle. He examined her wrists intently, and she found herself staring at him. This morning, as he annoyed her on her way to work, she hadn't gotten the opportunity to see him up close. She was so confused by what was happening and how she felt about what was happening, she didn't know how to calm her racing mind.  
"Why is he being so nice to me?...His hands are really soft...is this the same guy who was being so annoying earlier?... Why does his smile make me feel so awkward? Why does he care what happened to me? How did I not notice how blue his eyes were?"  
"Did ya hear me?" Race asked, leaning in closer to her, still holding her wrists.  
Sarah blinked, snapping out of her train of thought.  
"No, I was...I'm sorry, what?"  
"I said, these look pretty bad, you need to put some ice on 'em. I know somewhere we could find ya some but..."  
His voice trailed off, as he realized how closely they were standing now. His fingers were gingerly holding her wrists, and they were standing a mere few inches away from each other. His electric blue eyes gazed down into her crystal ones, and he stared at her, as though he were seeing her for the first time. He remained like this for several seconds; his mouth gaping slightly as he stared at her, pouring over every detail on her face, when Sarah pulled her hands away and cleared her throat. He was ripped out of his trance and laughed uncomfortably.  
"Yeah, so...what was I saying? Ice! Right, ice, we can get you ice, I know somewhere. And I was just checking, you know, to make your eyes weren't blue...I mean bruised! Ha, yeah, yeah, your eyes ain't, yeah, they ain't bruised. So, you're good there. Congrats. Haha...say, what happened to you?"  
Sarah opened her mouth to answer, when a hand grabbed her arm roughly from behind.  
"Got you! Thought you could run, you arrogant little bitch!"  
Oh God, it was Roach. She had been so distracted by Race, (Damn you Race, and your blue eyes) that she had forgotten that Roach might still be tailing her.  
"Hey!" Race yelled. He reached forward and grabbed Roach's arm, forcing him to let go of Sarah, and placed himself in between them. "What do ya thinks yous doing? Grabbing a girl like that, who do you thinks you is?"  
"Are." Sarah muttered under her breath.  
"Are." Race repeated triumphantly, "I mean, hey!" he turned his head, "Do you wanna be my English teacher or get this punk handled?"  
"Both." She replied, not breaking eye contact.  
"Well, can ya do it another time? Because I was a little busy tryin' to -"  
"Enough!" Roach bellowed. "You, are coming with me, young lady." He reached for Sarah again, but Race grabbed his wrist.  
"And, why should she do that? When she is hangin' out here wit' me?" Sarah glanced down at Roach's wrist and noticed how tightly Race's fingers were wrapped around him.  
"Race," Sarah warned, "It's fine. I'm okay, let's just go..."  
"You ain't going anywhere, you're coming back to work for me!" Roach roared.  
"No," Race interrupted, shoving Roach back, "You ain't going nowhere 'til I figures out what to do wit' you, and there ain't no way yous takin' her."  
"Race!" Sarah grabbed his arm, pulling him back, "Don't do anything stupid, there are cops right around the corner."  
"I ain't afraid of no cops." Race muttered stepping forward towards Roach.  
"Well, you should be!" She said, moving slowly forward, "being a street rat and all..." Sarah responded, her eyes fixed on Roach, analyzing her next move.  
"I said, I'm not afr-, hey, street rat? That's just-" Race turned towards Sarah to complain, and she took the opportunity to step past him and surprise Roach with a punch to the jaw. He hit the ground hard, gasping for air, and wiping the blood from his mouth.  
Sarah stepped back, massaging her knuckles, and Race stood to the side, shocked, in awe, and a little afraid of the sweatshop worker.  
"Come on, let's go!" She grabbed Race's hand and they took off down the street together, while Roach screamed profanities after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Don't forget to follow me to keep up with the story, and again, don't hesitate to comment down below and let me know what you guys want to see next! :)


	4. The Escape Pt. 2

Sarah and Race dashed through the streets of New York, dodging people and carriages, racing through abandoned buildings, until they finally arrived at Newsies square. Both teens sat down, out of breath and exhausted. Race removed his hat and ran his hand through his blond curls.  
"Damn, that was exciting! I 'aven't run like that since the strike!"  
Sarah's shoulders tensed at his mention of the Newsie's strike, and she grimaced. Race noticed, and he was about to mention it when she interrupted him.  
"Well, thank you, Race. I appreciate you helping me out, you didn't have to do that."  
"Of course I did!" Race replied, grinning from ear to ear, "I couldn't let anyone treat my girl that way!"  
Sarah elected to ignore that.  
"Well, like I said, thanks. See you around." Sarah stood up, brushed off her skirt, and began to walk away.  
"Wait! Hol' up, where ya going?" Race scrambled to his feet. "That guy could still be out looking for ya, you needs to lay low for a while."  
"I'll be fine. I need to figure out what to do next."  
"Lemme help you out! I could talk to Jack, he'll know what to do. We can get the boys together, march up to that place, and demand that the jerk be fired! Hey! We can start another strike!"  
"Stop it!" Sarah yelled. She watched Race's happy expression crumble and almost felt guilty for a second. However, his endearing smile did not counteract the idiocy of what he was suggesting.  
"The laundry workers can't go on strike. Yeah, conditions are bad in there, safety and all that, but not bad enough for the right people to do anything about it. Roach is an ass, but he's pretty fair to most of the workers. The girls he likes are the only ones really in danger."  
"Wait. That guy, he only picks on the ladies?" Race asked  
Sarah nodded.  
"And the girls he's sweet on?"  
Sarah scoffed.  
"I wouldn't say 'sweet on.' He's an old married man, who's using his position of power to take advantage of people. He threatens to fire girls if they don't do what he says."  
"An what does he say to do?" Race questioned carefully.  
Sarah looked down, refusing to meet his eyes.  
"It doesn't matter. All that matters is, strikes don't work for everybody." She paused, looking up at Race. It was hard to read his expression, but she could tell that he was still worried and probably hurt by her outburst earlier. After all, he was only trying to help. She felt her conscience weighing on her, and she wanted to apologize. Looking at him though, with his hair so adorably ruffled, and his expression so caring and concerned, she didn't know how to form the words to say. She certainly didn't trust herself to not get more emotionally attached to him than she already was. Instead, she cleared her throat uncomfortably.  
"Well, I'm sorry to have involved you in this. I should go."  
"Wait." Race looked down at her. She tried to stifle her emotions, but she felt her heart pounding faster every second he stared at her so sweetly with those big blue eyes.  
"I won't bring that up, okay? But at least lemme help you. I can talk to Jack, Davey and Katherine and see if they knows some other place looking for workers right now. Is that okay?"  
Sarah was shocked at how kind he was being to her, a stranger. The notorious 'Racetrack Higgins,' was offering to help her find a job. She was still skeptical of him and his intentions, as she had to be. (Hey, as a teenage girl living alone in a big city, you can never let your guard down.) But for some reason, she trusted him. Whether it was because she actually had faith in his moral character, or rather, how hypnotized she was by his smile, she nodded.  
"Yeah, that sounds great, actually, thank you. First though, I have another job, a part time one. I'm going to see if they can use me full time, now that I'm..."  
"More available?" Race supplied, returning his cigar to his mouth.  
"Yeah, that." She replied, smiling at him. They set off together, strolling past the circulation counter. "Have you ever been to Jacobi's Deli?"  
"Oh, 'ave I ever!" Race answered. "We Newsies love that place! We go there all the time. How come I's never seen you there before?"  
"Well, I work from 5:00 to 10:00, which is usually when the paying customers start arriving." She replied, giving him a pointed look.  
"Ouch!," Race leaned back, squeezing his left shoulder in fake pain, "That's some wit you got, darling. We've got a smart girl here. I like smart girls. Look at you: beautiful, smart, independent..."  
"Tired of you?" Sarah added.  
"Nope, I don't think that one's on the list. No one's ever tired of me."  
"Somehow, I highly doubt that." She mumbled.  
"Come on, let's go visit Jacobi's. I bet the boys is already there, in fact. You'll get to meet the whole gang!"  
"Oh, wonderful." Sarah deadpanned.  
"Now, don't be nervous, sweets, I'm sure theys gonna love you." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "I know that meeting the in-laws can make a girl nervous, but I promise that I'll-"  
"Racetrack, do you ever shut up?" Sarah asked indignantly.  
"Sometimes." He smirked and raised his eyebrows seductively. He leaned over to her, and whispered in her ear, "Why, you wanna make me?"  
Sarah's face flushed red, as she swatted him away.  
"Not even a little bit." Which was most definitely a lie. "Hurry up, it's only two more blocks."  
She quickened her pace, leaving him behind her. He grinned widely, sensing the effect he had on her. He took his cigar out of his mouth and looked her up and down once more as she walked briskly ahead of him, staring especially at the way her hips swayed when she moved. He whistled under his breath, returned his cigar to his lips, and ambled after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Don't forget to leave a comment :)


	5. Meeting Jacobi

"You know, I'm at quite the disadvantage here."  
Sarah glanced up quizzically at Race, caught off guard by his comment.  
"And why is that?"  
"You seem to know my name, somehow." he smirked. Sarah blushed furiously. She had forgotten that she revealed that she knew his name earlier.  
"I don't remember introducing myself. Where did you hear about me, sweetheart?" Race cocked one eyebrow and produced a fake gasp of fear. "Has you's been watching me?"  
"It's 'have you' and no, I haven't. My friends told me about you. We try to stay away from the Newsies, but people gossip. Especially about the most notorious ones."  
"Notorious! That's a big word. What's that mean? The most handsome ones?"  
"No, it usually means the most famously negatively perceived ones. In your case, you're famous for being a terrible flirt, gambler and liar."  
Race shrugged. "Well, I do try. Would ya mind 'leveling the playing field' and 'llowing me to cherish the knowledge of your name?"  
His words were dripping with lovesick sarcasm, and that just made Sarah more annoyed at him, because 1) she found the mind games he played quite annoying and 2) deep down, she knew she enjoyed the way he teased her. The jokes, the jabs, the playful quips, the witty banter: she loved it. She certainly didn't love him. She had just met him, and at this point, she wasn't even sure if she liked him. However, as obnoxious as she did find him most of the time, she had always been a girl for dialogue. Ordinary, love struck romance novels made her sick to her stomach. Where was the fun in proclaiming your eternal love for someone you just met? Even more importantly, where was the sense? It was this and a few other situations that made Sarah, in a way, grateful for her trust issues. Not trusting blindly means being less likely to get screwed over, and she certainly wasn't going to let pretty boy, smart ass, street urchin, Racetrack Higgins, screw her over.  
"Hmm..." Sarah pretended to think about it for a moment. "Nope, I think I'm all right."  
Race's charming smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered.  
"Well, I suppose, if you ain't gonna tell me your name. I'm just gonna have to give you one myself. Let's see we've got: "sweetheart, darling, and then there's that one that you REALLY hate..." Yeah, that's quite a list of wonderful nicknames for a woman without a name."  
"I have a name." Sarah said curtly. "I usually don't tell my name to strange boys whom I just met."  
"Well, that's fine by me, sunshine. I can be quite inventive with nicknames. I am a Newsie after all. You are talking to "Racetrack" Higgins."  
"So, what's your real name?" Sarah challenged.  
He chuckled. "You gots to earn the right to my real name. Nobody alive knows my real, given name. An' I would only ever tell that to Someone. Very. Close. To. Me." Emphasizing each word of the phrase, Race stepped closer and closer to Sarah, until they were standing nose to nose. He raised one eyebrow and tilted his head. "Would ya like to come figure it out?"  
He spoke with such a confusing tone to his voice. It was always both playful and serious, seductive and obnoxious, teasing and enticing. Sarah felt her breath hitch in the back of her throat, but it was so slight she barely even noticed it. Race's expression didn't change (Thank God) so she assumed he hadn't either.  
"Not even a little bit." With that phrase, which had so quickly become so common for Race to receive from her, she continued walking. Turning the last street corner, she found herself standing in front of Jacobi's Deli.  
Race jogged past Sarah on the sidewalk and placed his hand on the doorknob of the front entrance to the deli. He removed his cap, and placing it over his heart, bowed, and dramatically pulled the door open.  
"After you, m'lady." He quipped cheekily, his curls decorating his forehead, and his signature cigar hanging loosely from his lips.  
Sarah ignored his dramatics but stepped through the door frame. She was greeted with the familiar sight of Jacobi's deli, a quaint, but pleasant establishment. Her nostrils were filled with the intoxicating smells of freshly baked bread, roasted meat, and old wooden furniture. Sarah smiled softly at the scent of home cooked food, which reminded her of her old life with her family. She breathed in deeply, taking in the memorable smells of Jacobi's cooking. Mr. Jacobi himself was of Jewish origin, but Sarah had always felt a connection to him and his heritage anyway. A whole branch of her favorite, albeit distant cousins, also bore the name Jacobi, as the name was popular among the Dutch as well. When she first introduced herself to him, he had smiled warmly and proclaimed,  
"A fellow immigrant, eh? Welcome to the family." When she had timidly mentioned that most everyone in New York was an immigrant of some kind, whether they be Dutch, Jewish, or British, he had simply responded,  
"Ack, don't remind me. All right, Janssen, I guess Manhattan is all immigrant, speaking in a technical fashion, but British immigrants don't count. They waltz in places acting like they own the joint. They've gone and done that with half the world. Nah, it's you and me, kid...and others. We are the immigrants who aren't always welcome. Now, come on in, lemme give you a tour of the place."  
Right on cue, Mr. Jacobi stepped into the room. He was an elderly, rotund man with a gray, neatly trimmed beard. He always wore a black top hat, even with his apron on, and he sported a pair of clear, rounded spectacles that sat on the bridge of his nose.  
When he saw Sarah, his smiled widened significantly. "Janssen! You're early today! Say, how's it going? I thoughts you were working all day before you come to see me? How come you're out free?"   
He spoke with a thick accent, but not like most New Yorkers. His dialect was a sonorous blend of Yiddish vowels and Manhattan slang. He asked these questions lightly, his eyes still shining and bearing a toothy, friendly smile. However, he soon glanced at Sarah's hands, and the jolly expression faced from his face.  
"Hey, now, what happened to you? Janssen, what on Earth...WHO DID THIS TO YOU?" Mr. Jacobi dried his hands on his apron and hurried over to Sarah to observe the bruises on her wrists. Unfortunately, it was in this moment of panic that Mr. Jacobi noticed that Racetrack Higgins was in his doorway as well.  
"You...Did you do this to her?!? You rotten Newsie rat, answer me! If I hear that you and your bum friends..." Mr. Jacobi bellowed at Racetrack, who was now looking very pale. The large man began to advance towards the Newsie, rolling up his sleeves.  
"NO!" Sarah shouted, stepping in Mr. Jacobi's path. "No sir, Race didn't do this. Some jerk at work did. Race helped me get away from him."  
The rage-filled expression of Mr. Jacobi vanished almost as suddenly as it had appeared. He studied Racetrack skeptically, but then kindly once again.  
"Well, then. Thank you, young man. I appreciate your act of chivalry."  
He stuck out his hand for Race to shake, which the boy accepted, cautiously, still not sure if he needed to bolt out of that doorway.  
"I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions so quickly, my boy, please forgive me. Some friends of yours are in there right now, if you were looking for them as well. Anyway, are you okay Janssen? What can I do to help?"  
"I'm fine." Sarah responded, smiling gratefully up at the old man. "Really, I'm okay now. I just need to start looking for another full-time job, after...you know...today." She lifted her bruised wrists to emphasize her point. "I was wondering if you could use me."  
The old man's smile widened even more. "Of course, I can! You know I've been wanting you to come work for me for some time now, instead of slaving away in that miserable den of a shop. But I know, sewing is your first love, even before me, and if you had to put up with a rat of a boss to do it, you would. However, you know I can't have you start until three days from now."  
"Three days?" Sarah asked, surprised. "But why?"  
"I'm leaving town for a couple of days to visit my niece. You remember? I told you about her last week, just had a new baby. I've been wanting to visit the kids for some time now."  
Sarah leaned her head back, exasperated with herself.  
"Of course! I remember that now. How could I have forgotten? How is little Bielke doing?"  
"I hear all good things about her health. I can't wait to see her. However, it means I can't help you with the employment until I get back. You would be welcome to stay here, as always..."  
"No, that's okay Mr. Jacobi. I'll be just fine. Thank you for the job!"  
"No, no, thank you! It will be a privilege to gain a hard worker such as you around the clock! Well, I have to go back into the kitchen, I need to discuss the details of the changes this week with the kitchen staff. You're both welcome to stick around!"  
And with that, Mr. Jacobi smiled warmly at Sarah, nodded at Race, and went back into the kitchen.  
"I've never seen Ol' Jacobi get mad before. Good to know that its somethin' to avoid. Are you like his daughter or somethin'? How does he know ya so well?" Race commented.  
"I work here. Employers tend to know their employees." Sarah responded nonchalantly.  
"Not like that. He treats you like family."  
"Well, us immigrants have to stick together."  
Race didn't quite know how to respond to that, so he just grinned slyly.  
"Well, Janssen." He quipped sweetly, using the new name he had just learned from Mr. Jacobi, and the only name he knew for sure to associate with her. "Ready to meet the Newsies?"  
"Are they anything like you?"  
"Nobody's anything like me."  
"You know what I mean."  
"I do know what you mean, and yeah. Yeah, they are."  
"Then no."  
"Perfect! Let's go!" And with that, Race and Sarah stepped into the seating room together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you are having a super awesome day. 😊 Please give me a vote up if you enjoyed this chapter, it would seriously mean so much to me. And leave a comment down below if you want to request another story or ask any questions at all. Also, side note, if you find a typo, besides Racetrack Higgin's slang, haha, please let me know. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this and remember that you are freaking beautiful!!! <3 Have a wonderful, blessed day!


	6. Meeting the Newsies

Race stepped into the dining room of Jacobi's Deli, and Sarah followed him reluctantly. He led her across the room to the four tables closest to the kitchen, where a large group of about twenty boys were hanging out. Most of the group was fixated on one Newsie, whom Sarah recognized as Jack Kelly, but a few others were watching two Newsies play the spoons.  
"Loud, dirty, and dancing for no reason. Yes, this must be the Newsies." Sarah thought.  
"Hey boys!" Race called out, announcing his entrance. He strutted forward towards the rest of the Newsies, who had all turned their attention to him.  
"Hey Racer!"  
"Racetrack's here, fellas!"  
"Hey Race, where ya been?"  
Several of the boys rushed over to Race and pushed him playfully, to which Race responded by pretending to punch one of them in the gut. Sarah rolled her eyes as the fake fight intensified and more Newsies crowded around Racetrack. He was grinning wider than ever now, clearly enjoying the attention.  
"When does Race not enjoy being the center of attention?" Sarah thought to herself, silently judging the boys around her for their antics. Jack Kelly, who was standing on a table, apparently making some sort of speech to the boys, grinned widely, and jumped down off the table.  
"Hey, Race! Where ya been? We's been waiting for ya here! Albert's been lonely."  
All the boys snickered and looked at one Newsie in a brown vest and backwards newsboy cap.  
"I ain't lonely, ya wimps. I need Race to sport me two cents for a seltzer."  
The playful fighting resumed, and Race jogged over to Jack Kelly, who embraced him and punched his arm.  
"Nice to have ya back. Really, though, what'cha been doing? We was getting worried when ya didn't...oh."  
Jack stopped mid-sentence, noticing Sarah standing a few feet away from the group, awkwardly watching the boys' antics.  
"Ohhh, so that's what you's been doing. I guessed as much, but you brought her to see the boys, huh! That means it's serious. Boys, Race brought a girl here!"  
Sarah stepped forward and opened her mouth to protest and explain her real reason for being escorted to the restaurant by Race, but it was too late. The crowd of Newsies erupted into cheers and yelling, all gathering around Race, punching him, pushing him, hugging him, and shaking his hand. The boys whooped and hollered and yelled things at Race, as they walked over to Sarah and looked her up and down.  
"Race, ya dumbass, why don't ya tell anybody anything! We's coulda said hi a long time ago!" "Wow, Race. You finally got a girl to actually listen to ya, who woulda thought?"  
"Man, how did ya do it? She's WAY too pretty for you!"  
The jeering and celebration went on, with most of the boys carrying on like idiots, except for one boy. He was sitting next to Jack and was the only boy who had remained in his chair. He looked annoyed with the group's antics and looked at Sarah sympathetically. Her heart stopped when she saw his face, which has previously been obscured by other Newsies. But now, she saw him clearly: Davey Jacobs. The son of a trolley worker. She knew he had joined the Newsies for the strike several months ago, but it didn't sink in that he was really a Newsie until she saw him among them. Although, she almost laughed to herself, seeing how out of place and uncomfortable he looked near the rowdy street urchins around him.  
Unruly, loud, snarky: that was never Davey Jacobs. The way she remembered him from when they were kids was as the quiet one. He was kind, incredibly smart, but overly cautious and shy. He seemed to have come out of his shell more in the last few months since Sarah had seen him last, and certainly much more than when they were kids, but he was still quiet, well-behaved, nerdy David.  
She cursed internally though, seeing him now. She prayed a silent prayer that he wouldn't recognize her. It wasn't that she didn't want to see him, she and Davey had always been friends. But he knew her. And more importantly, he knew her story. And that was something she didn't want any of the Newsies, especially one in particular, to know. She snapped back to reality, now realizing that the boys had hoisted Racetrack onto their shoulders and were carrying him around the dining room, letting him gloat and bask in the attention. "Okay, this had gone on long enough." Sarah thought.  
"HEY!"  
The Newsies stopped, turning to her. Every boy went silent, even Jack Kelly.  
"I'm not his girl; I work here."  
The Newsie who was holding up Racetrack, who she assumed was Albert after his earlier comments, glanced up at Race scornfully, and then dropped him. Race hit the ground, landing on his bottom. He stood up and shoved Albert. The boys pushed Race around, complaining to him as they dispersed.  
"You bastard, you're such a liar."  
"We knew you ain't dating a girl that pretty."  
"That was some joke, Race, we shoulda known better."  
Race ambled over to Sarah, rubbing his sore bottom.  
"Okay, so I wasn't entirely honest, fellas, I'm sorry! It was too good to pass up! She thought it was funny, didn't ya, sweetheart?"  
Race glanced at Sarah expectedly, hoping to see the slightest indication of a smile on her face. He was sorely disappointed.  
"...Well, okay, maybe not, but I thought it was genius. Anyway, boys, we gotta real issue here. This is..."  
Race stepped back and gestured dramatically toward Sarah, indicating for her to introduce herself. She panicked, not wanting to share her name knowing that Davey was in the room. What if he recognized her? There was a fairly good chance he wouldn't recognize her face after all these years. She had grown up a lot since they were friends. But if she shared her name, she was sure he would make the connection. So, instead, she did something that she knew would weigh on her heart and conscience: she lied.  
"I'm...Isabelle. But you can call me Ellie." She cringed internally. "Wow, Sarah, way to go. You don't want Davey to recognize you, so you pick THAT name instead. Well done, you moron."  
Well, it was too late to change now. She glanced timidly towards Davey, fearing his reaction, but she breathed a sigh of relief when no sign of recognition flashed across his features.  
"Well, Ellie. Nice to meet ya. 'llow me to introduce you to the Newsies of Manhattan."  
The boys, who were now settled down into their original places smiled and waved at her.  
"Hi, how ya doing?"  
"Nice to meet ya!"  
"Pleasure's all ours!"  
"Welcome to Jacobi's."  
Sarah smiled and waved back to them. Race stepped forward and stood beside her.  
"This guy from that laundry place on Eighth street, her boss, roughed her up real bad. She was running away, and I's ran into her. She's out of a job now and needed somewhere to go, ya see. So's I brought her here. Know of anywhere hiring right now?"  
Jack's expression tightened, and he turned to address Sarah.  
"Yeah, I've heard of that guy. Roach, ain't it?"  
Sarah nodded grimly. Behind Jack, the Newsies frowned at each other, and nodded knowingly. Apparently, most of them had heard of Roach too.  
"Davey, that laundry place. Ain't that close to where you live?"  
Sarah tensed up. Her eyes shot nervously to Davey, but thankfully he still seemed untroubled. Race saw Sarah's shoulders tense and stepped closer to her protectively. His eyes scanned her face, and witnessing the anxiety in her eyes, was tempted to put his arm around her. He reached out behind her, but then thought better of it. He reminded himself that she probably wouldn't appreciate the gesture, especially after he let the guys believe that she was his girl. His eyes dropped to the floor, and he awkwardly adjusted his cap.  
"Yeah, it's a couple blocks away," Davey answered. "A lot of the trolley worker's wives work there. It's pretty bad conditions, Jack, but no one working there want to admit it."  
"Yeah, I heard that too," Jack said, addressing Sarah again. "But, you are safe here with us. Come on in!" He gestured for them to follow him to a table. A couple of Newsies jumped off of the table, moving to create room for the two newcomers. They smiled at Sarah, happy to include her, but glowered at Race. They sat down together, and Jack continued to ask Sarah questions.  
"You said you work here, right?"  
"Yes, part-time," Sarah replied. "I start full time when Mr. Jacobi gets back from visiting his family, but I'm out of a job 'til then."  
"Well, I don't know of anybody looking right now, but I'll ask Katherine. She'll know some places for you." Jack smiled, his eyes lighting up with the mention of the other girl's name.  
"Katherine?" Sarah asked. "Who's that?"  
Jack opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Race explained.  
"Oh, that's his boss, yeah. The only person Jack Kelly reports to. She's a real hard-ass too. He's so whipped that he-"  
"Katherine," Jack interrupted loudly, glowering at Race, "is my girlfriend. She's a reporter at the World. She might can help ya find work in the meantime."  
"Thank you!" Sarah responded.  
"Of course," Race added, leaning forward in his seat, "If Katherine can't find anything for ya to do, you could always sell papes for a couple days."  
"Me? Sell papes?" Sarah repeated, laughing. "Not on your life."  
"Oh, come on!" Race pleaded. "It'd be fun! You could be my selling partner. Wouldn't that be nice, Ellie?" He drawled out the fake name she had given, seemingly proud of himself. As much as she hated lying, watching Race use the fake name so triumphantly, knowing that he was so excited to finally learn it, she almost didn't even regret it. He winked cheekily at her, and she scoffed.  
"I don't think so. I would be hopeless as a Newsie anyway."  
"Because you can't be friendly to strangers?" Race suggested.  
"Because I'm not willing to lie to strangers," Sarah retorted.  
"Well, ya know, that's not exactly what it is..."  
"Yeah! Yeah, it's more..."  
"I wouldn't call it..."  
"Hey, that ain't fair. We isn't lying..."  
The Newsies interjected their own thoughts about Sarah's description of their line of work. Just as she was becoming overwhelmed with their noise and protests, she heard the front door of the restaurant open. A few moments later, two girls burst into the room. They scanned the room frantically, and when their eyes rested on Sarah, they both smiled widely.  
"Hey Sar –"


	7. Meeting the Newsies Pt. 2

Previously on Every Day We Wait:  
The Newsies interjected their own thoughts about Sarah's description of their line of work. Just as she was becoming overwhelmed with their noise and protests, she heard the front door of the restaurant open. A few moments later, two girls burst into the room. They scanned the room frantically, and when their eyes rested on Sarah, they both smiled widely.  
"Hey Sar –"

 

"HI ANNA! CAMILA!" Sarah exclaimed loudly, causing a few of the Newsies around her to jump in alarm. She intentionally interrupted and drowned out the girls' voices, and she ran to give them both a hug. She wrapped her arms around them, and they returned the hug. While she hugged them, Sarah leaned in and whispered.  
"My name is Ellie, don't ask, I'll explain later."  
She stepped back and looked pointedly at the both of them. They both nodded slightly, looking quite confused but doing their best to remain expressionless. Sarah turned back to the Newsies, feigning confidence and praying for some acting abilities to be magically bestowed on her friends who, bless them, stood awkwardly where she left them, looking around the room hesitantly.  
“Boys, these are my friends, Anna and Camila. They work at the laundry place too, under Roach.” An uncomfortable silence began to fall over the room, but Anna broke it.  
“Not anymore I don’t.”  
“You quit, too?” Sarah asked incredulously, “What happened?”  
“Well, when we came back in after lunch break, Roach was gone and so were you. We started to get really worried. We were about to go looking for you when he came in, with a black eye. I asked him where you were and he said you quit. I don’t know what it was, but when he said you had left and I saw his face, I knew something had happened. And I knew you would never hit someone, even someone like him, unprovoked. I knew he had done something.” Sarah looked away, but Anna looked at Racetrack and his solemn nod affirmed her suspicions.  
“I didn’t know what, of course, but I knew it was bad. So, I quit too. I’m done working for that bastard. I’d rather live on the streets then spend one more day in that prison of a workspace.”  
“We already live on the streets, Anna.” Camila mentioned.  
“Well, yeah, but ya know…” Anna stuttered to reply.  
“In a worse neighborhood.” Crutchie supplied.  
“Exactly!” Anna smiled at him, and the Camila triumphantly, “I’d rather live on the streets, in a worse neighborhood.”  
“Anna, I’m sorry.” Sarah said softly, “You didn’t have to do that.” Anna cocked her head in confusion.  
“Did he not do something to ya?”  
“No! He did,” she paused, “He did. But I got away. I’m fine. And now you don’t have a job!”  
“We can help you with that.” Racetrack stepped forward, “We made the same offer to Ellie here earlier.” Both of the girls cringed slightly at the name and looked at Sarah, who glared at them.  
“We Newsies are always looking for newcomers, especially ones with potential.” Jack sauntered over to the two new girls, addressing Anna first. “You’ve got some spirit, we could use that. Show us a sad face, come on, how bout that appeal to pity?”  
Anna grinned wickedly, and then opened her eyes wider and parted her lips slightly. A single tear formed in the inner corner of her eye. Sarah smiled against her will, and Camila rolled her eyes, but the Newsies murmured in admiration.  
“Wow, yous a natural! Interested in hawking a headline wit’ us tomorrow? It’s $0.60 for a hundred papes, but we can loan ya that much if you need to get started. And, on top of that, if you don’t sell all of ‘em, Pulitzer buys ‘em back. Are ya in?”  
“Am I?” Anna exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement. “That sounds like the best job ever! And now with the union? I should have quit earlier!” This garnered a laugh from all of the Newsies.  
“Now,” Racetrack drawled, putting his arm around Sarah’s shoulder, “If only yous could convince Ellie here to join us tomorrow too.” Anna wheeled around and frowned in confusion.  
“Wait, ...Ellie, why don’t you want to sell papers? This sounds awesome!”  
“Anna, this is a great job and I think it’s perfect for you. I’m just not meant to be a Newsie. Pretending to be hungry, homeless, and broke to gain people’s pity…”  
“But, we are hungry…” One Newsie argued.  
“And homeless…” Another added.  
“And broke.” Crutchie said.  
“Well, yes, I know that.” Sarah responded, frustrated by her own inability to articulate her objections. “But I can get by, and it just feels...wrong to prey on people’s sympathies that way.”  
“Look, look,” Jack interrupted before any of the other Newsies could interject. “I get it. You were brought up honest, right?”  
Sarah nodded hesitantly.  
“Work your hardest, don’t talk back to your supervisors. America is a free country and you can rise up in the world if you just put in enough blood, sweat and tears.” He added.  
Sarah stared at him, awestruck. His words echoed the exact sentiments of her father’s instructions to her upon their arrival. She fought back the tears in her eyes at the memory, and she nodded again.  
Race stood to the side, chewing on his cigar, listening to Jack and watching her. He intently examined her face and the way she fought to control her reactions. He saw that the words were having quite an effect on her. This was exactly how she had been raised, apparently. As he listened to Jack’s words and scanned her face for emotion, it hit him. Jack’s speech to her, her sentiments about the Newsies, her surname. He was an idiot. She was an immigrant, and a recent one too. Janssen. Swedish? Dutch? He wondered. He wondered if she was fluent in another language and what language it would be. “ _Bilingual, that’d be hot_.” His subconscious mind offered. “ _Shut up_.” He told himself. If she could speak her mother tongue, at least he had finally found a sufficient commonality between them. Bilingual immigrant working kids, both without family. Both living in the land of opportunity their parents had promised would be so much kinder. His mind began racing as he catalogued his favorite flirtatious Italian phrases, while also forming a plan to find out what nationality the name Janssen inferred.  
“What do you think, Higgins?”  
Race snapped out of his daydreaming to find the entire crowd of Newsies and girls staring at him. “ _Fan-fucking-tastic Higgins, real smooth_.” He thought. He casually took the cigar out of his mouth and scanned the room, looking for body language cues that would give him some clues about what he missed. The Newsies were staring at him, some in disappointment, but others with Cheshire cat grins. His eyes drifted to Ellie, looking determined but embarrassed. Her cheeks an adorable shade of pink, and she wasn’t meeting his eyes. “ _Okay_ ,” he thought to himself, “ _There’s only a few things they could’ve been saying while I wasn’t listening, and looking at her and the boys, I’m gonna make a guess rather than look totally stupid_.”

  
“America is a free country and you can rise up in the world if you just put in enough blood, sweat and tears. That’s what my father used to say to me too. ‘Til they worked him to death. I ain’t asking that you become just like us, I’s only asking that you give selling papes a chance. Maybe it ain’t as honest a work as you used to, but we ain’t liars and scumbags. We make up a headline to sell a pape, that’s how the world works. Just give it a try, for three days, and then you can see what you think of selling papes.”  
“Okay.” The Newsies stared at her. Jack looked taken aback, but pleased. He didn’t expect her to be convinced so easily. “Under one condition: I won’t make up the headlines.” Silence filled the room. The Newsies exchanged uneasy glances.  
“You ain’t gonna ‘xaggerate the news? How do ya plan to sell anything?” Crutchie asked.  
“Look, Ellie, I tried that too.” Davey spoke up for the first time. He addressed the familiar stranger. “I wasn’t used to it either, but it didn’t work.”  
“And if it doesn’t, I’ll find that out for myself. As you said, it’s only three days. I want to try and sell without manipulating the customers, and I want to see how you do it. I want to see the most dramatic lengths you’d go to for a penny.”  
Jack Kelly chuckled, “That sounds like an interesting propostion. I can’t wait to sell how this plays out. Go ahead! And, if you want to see the “most dramatic lengths”, we’ll just have to pair you with our most melodramatic performer. What do you think, Higgins?”  
She turned and stared up at Race, who was now looking around the room calmly. He hadn’t answered yet, that was weird. Not to be a narcissist, but from Race’s previous comments, she would’ve thought he’d have jumped at the chance to sell with her. “ _What was he looking for_?” She found herself frustrated by his delayed response. It wasn’t that she wanted him to sell with her, was it? No, he was an obnoxious and presumptuous boy. But then, why was she almost hurt by his lack of enthusiasm? His eyes landed on hers, and she looked away. She was angry at him for being so quiet, and angry with herself for wanting him to speak. She could feel her cheeks going red, and she cursed internally. It was almost as if she could feel him smirking. Jack crossed his arms lazily, waiting for an answer to his question.

“Well, Race, what do you think?” Race beamed, and turned to look at Sarah again. This time, she didn’t look away.  
“Well, thanks Jack for asking. I’d be happy to be Ellie’s selling partner, and show her the ropes.” He took off his hat and put the cigar back in his mouth with a wink. “Welcome to the Newsies!” Sarah grimaced and looked at Jack Kelly, hoping for a way out. She was determine to grimace at the idea of spending all day with Race, but for some reason when he winked at her like that, her stomach fluttered and she suddenly became very aware of the effort it took to breathe. Damn it, this wasn’t going to be easy.  
“Hey, Camila. You’ve been awfully quiet. What are you going to do?”  
“Well, I, um, I didn’t quit exactly. I think I’m just gonna go back tomorrow, and if they still let me in after leaving early, I’ll just stay.”  
Anna and Sarah exchanged looks of concern. “Camila, I don’t think…”  
“I’ll be fine. I’m really sorry...Ellie, about what happened. But Roach has never messed with me and I need that job. With the overtime I make, it’s more than a Newsie’s salary and my family…”  
“It’s okay,” Sarah interrupted, smiling reassuringly, “Camila, I get it. You have nothing to be sorry for. If you want to stay, that’s up to you. But if anything happens, if anything goes south, you get out of there and you tell us, okay?”  
Camila nodded shyly, and drew closer to Anna. Sarah took a deep breath, and turned to face Race.  
“Well, Higgins, when do we start? What does it take to be a Newsie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This is the last chapter I have uploaded as of May 25, 2019. If all things go according to plan, Chapter 8 will go up on June 1st. Have a great day!


	8. Carrying the Banner

“Step right up, Newboys! Get your daily papes!”

Sarah stood next to Race in the circulation line. He yawned and she smirked.

“What? Yous a morning person?”

“No. I hate mornings. But I got to sleep in today!”

He decided to ignore her attitude, at least for now. The line moved quickly, and they followed the other Newsies closer to the dispensiary. Anna stepped up to the counter cheerily.

“Well, well, well.” The older man with a mustache . “Look what we’ve got here. New blood. Morning ma’m, how’d you get into cahoots with all these bums? This is no place for a young lady like yourself.”

“Thanks for your concern, Mister Weasel, but I’ll get along just fine. Fifty papes, please.”  
Anna shot back snidely, with a cheeky grin uncomfortably similar to one Sarah recognized.

Wiesel grunted angrily and shoved her papers at her.

“Good riddance, then. A kid like you will fit in just great with the likes of them. Next!”

Wiesel called up the next Newsies, but Sarah’s eyes stayed on Anna as she walked away from the stand, where two other men jeered at her. She had been standing too far back in line to notice their presence at first, due to the distance and the crowd of tall newsboys in the way. But, when Race pushed her to the front of the line she saw them. And she recognized them. And she froze. When they saw her, Oscar and Morris grinned wickedly.

“ ‘ello, Weasel. Morning to you, Ellie here’ll take fifty papes…”

“Yonson! Nice to see you again.” The brothers interrupted. They vaulted over the stacked papers and approached Sarah, who stepped back hesitantly.

“Didn’t expect to see you on this side of town. And in such company? Goodness, you have changed, darling, it’s been too long.” Oscar mocked.

“No, it hasn’t. In fact, I think it hasn’t been long enough, Delancey. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She slammed her coins down. “I’ll take fifty papers.”

The boys looked at each other, clearly tempted to continue the conversation, but they could see Racetrack turning red with confusion and anger. Jeers and shouts arose from the back of the line; other newsies shouted above the crowd.

“Hey! What’s the hold up?” A boy with dark hair and a blue cap shouted.

“We ain’t got all day!” Cried another impatiently.

The brothers snickered, but handed Sarah her papers.

“Have a nice day, kenau*.”

“Klerelijers*.” Sarah muttered under her breath, as snatched her papers and stalked away.

Racetrack tossed his coins onto the counter, and stared down the brothers. Morris sauntered over to Racetrack and looked him dead in the eyes. They stared at each other, clearly challenging one another, for several seconds. The newsies went quiet and the tension remained in the air, until the Delancey brother chuckled derisively and backed away, his hands up in mock surrender.

“Alright, Race Higgins, you’re her escort now?” He nodded at his brother, mockingly acknowledging Race’s obvious self-perceived status as the girl’s protector. “Okay, pretty boy, we’ll be sure to keep an eye out for you. Better watch your step. For the first time in your bum life, you’ve got something worth stealing.” Morris taunted.

Race shoved him, hard, and the Delancey stumbled back into the counter. Race stepped forward, about to punch him, and probably start a fight involving all of the newsies when Sarah cried out.

“Race!” He turned to find Oscar holding onto her arm, tightly. For three seconds, he saw nothing but red. However, he had no time to do anything he could potentially regret because Sarah twisted around, loosening Oscar’s grip on her arm as it became more painful for him, and she shoved him back into his brother. “Let’s go, they’re not worth it.”

Race scowled, and turned to the brothers, still glaring tauntingly at him as they retreated behind the counter. His logical thought process returned, and he reasoned that the men were done being abrasive, as they knew any more action would draw the ire of all of the newsies. Race grabbed his fifty papes from Wiesel. He locked eyes with the brothers again, gesturing to his temple snarkily, reminding Morris of where he had left a bruise on the man’s face during the riot, and subtextually threatening to repeat it. Oscar smirked and gestured to his own eye, where he had watched a police officer hit Race repeatedly not five minutes later. They regarded each coldly again. Then, Race turned to follow Sarah, still seething.

“Are you okay?” She asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Me? I’m fine. Are ya hurt? Your arm?” Race reached for her forearm, where Oscar had grabbed her, but Sarah pulled away and laughed.

“I’m fine, Race. I appreciate the concern, but I’m not made of paper.”

He looked it over though, all the same, while they were walking. No bruising, no discoloration, except where the marks still existed on her wrists. She was fine. He still seethed with anger, nonetheless. Not only because of what the Delanceys had done. Having seen how tightly Oscar had grabbed her without any bruising, he grimaced to think of how hard Roach must have grabbed her to leave her wrists splotched with purple.

“They’re just annoying...seriously Race, are you okay? You look like you’re planning to kill somebody.”

Race shook his head, clearing his mind of his apparently obvious murderous intentions, and smiled weakly at her.

“Just fine, sweetheart. Just tired of meeting the Delanceys every morning.”

“Are they always like that? With you guys?” He noticed she hadn’t rolled her eyes at his pet name for her, and his smile became authentic.

“Nah, not usually. You got them more worked up than usual. But how do you know them?”

“I don’t know them.” She started walking faster, eyes fixated on the pavement in front of her.

“They knew your name.” Race countered, speeding up to match her pace.

“I mean, I’ve met them before. Once or twice. Just around the square. But I don’t know them, really.”

“Around the square?”

“Yes, several months ago.”

“Oh. Wait, was it before or after the strike?”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “During. It’s a long story and an unimportant one. Where do we go first?”

“But during the strike? I mean, that’s when they were…”

“Race.” Sarah stopped abruptly. “Look, I ran into them during the strike in Newsies square. They introduced themselves and started harassing some of the kids around me. My friend called my name, and we got out of there. That’s how they knew me and my name, okay? Now, please, drop it, and show me where we start.”

Race could tell there was more to the story than that. Her whole body language betrayed her. But, nevertheless, he could tell the parts of the story she wasn’t relating to him weren’t happy memories. So, he decided to leave it alone. At least for now.

“Okay,” He said gently, causing her to look at him in surprise. “What? Despite what ya think of me, I do know when to shut up sometimes...I just choose not to most times.” She cracked a smile.

“I know a great spot uptown that’ll serve nicely for today.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Unemployment up by 2%!”

“Fiery trolley crash on 56th street! Thank you, sir.”

Race and Sarah stood on a street corner next to a tall lamppost, selling their papers. The morning had flown by, and they were now selling to the crowds heading home from work. Both of their voices rang out, overlapping each other’s.

“What does the House have to say about the rise…”

“Multiple injuries in collision! Thank you, sir.”

“Unemployment rates going up!”

“Tensions rise between the U.S. and England! Is war on the horizon?”

Sarah wheeled around in frustration.

“What tensions? The United States and England are allies, you idiot.”  
\--  
“Ah!” Race smiled at her. “Thanks for letting me know, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want to lead people astray, now would I? Have to make the headline realistic.” He coughed dramatically, clearing his throat and winked at her.

“Tensions rise between America and Russia! Is war on the horizon? Thank you sir.” Another man handed Race a coin and took a paper. Sarah rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, because that makes so much more sense.”

“Who knows? Maybe it will one day. Besides, like I’ve been sayin’ darling, makin’ sense don’t matter when you sell papes!”

“Doesn’t.” Sarah corrected.

“What?”

“Makin’ sense doesn’t matter when you sell papers.”

“Exactly!” Race exclaimed, grinning. “Glad to see you’re finally catching on.”

“No, I…” Sarah argued.

“Fiery trolley crash on 56th street!” He shouted again.  
“Is the company at fault? Thank you, sir.” Race handed his last newspaper to a woman, and turned to Sarah. He put a cigar in his mouth and smiled dryly.

“How many you got left there, sweetheart?”

“Fifteen.” She said matter of factly, trying not to let Race’s condescending attitude get to her. If she thought his selling mannerisms were obnoxious when she had passed him in the street, she had yet to know true pain. She had been standing next to Race for hours, listening to his ridiculous fake headlines.

“Wait, really?” Race’s grin faltered slightly, and he took his cigar between his fingers.  
“Only fifteen? I mean, I’m all out, but you sold…” He took a second to do the math in his head. “Thirty five? How?”

“Some people appreciate honesty, Race Higgins. You should learn to respect it, too.”

“Maybe one day I will. When I’m old and rich, like Pulitizer! When I ain’t selling papes for a living.” Race sat down on the street corner, while Sarah remaining standing, still approaching passersby with papers.

“Did you seriously try and imply the virtue of honesty in the same sentence as Joe Pulitizer?” She scoffed. Race chuckled.

“I guess that don’t work. But if I ain’t honest when I’m old and rich, then when?” Sarah handed a paper to a woman, and took her coin. She turned the coin over in her fingers and dropped it into her dress pocket.

“That’s the thing.” Sarah mused aloud. “Most poor people start out honest, and then become corrupt and dishonest the richer they get. That’s how men like Pulitizer come to be.” She looked pointedly at him. “You somehow skipped that stage.”

“You mean to say I’m special? I thinks that’s the first compliment I ‘ave got from you!”

“I wouldn’t consider that a compliment. ‘Special’ isn’t always positive.” Sarah completed another transaction and turned to face Race.

“For example, your selling tactics were _especially_ annoying to witness today.”

“Thank you!” Race grinned broadly. “How’s that an example of anything?”

Sarah groaned and rolled her eyes again, “Oh, never mind. Thank you ma’m.” She handed out another paper, and glanced at Race over her shoulder.

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

Sarah wheeled around and stared incredulously at him.

“I’m sorry, what?!”

“You love how impossible I am.”

“Really? And how do you figure that?”

“Are you gonna try an’ tell me you ain’t enjoyin’ havin’ someone to quip at? That you ain’t enjoyin’ correcting my English and witnessing my, boyish charm?” He asked, grinning impishly.

“I don’t. I find you obnoxious, childish, and as I said before, impossible.” Sarah kept her eyes trained on the street while she answered him.

“Now look who’s lying.” Race scoffed, and stood back up. He leaned on the lamppost beside them. “Will you hurry up? The boys are probably waiting for us at Jacobi’s.”

“What’s keeping you? If you’re done, then go.” Sarah shot back.

“I couldn’t! Us Newsies never leave a selling partner alone. You’re stuck together like glue the whole day. It’s for safety reasons. And it’s part of our code. ‘No Newsie left behind.’ Like it? It’s original!”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not.” Sarah contradicted.

“Maybe not,” Race admitted cheekily, “But it’s still part of our code.”

“What is this ‘code’ you’re talking about? When I asked what it took to be a Newsie, I figured the description of any code would’ve been a part of that. All I got was an escort to the wagons, an introduction to Wiesel and the others, and a front-row seat to your one-man show all day.”

“The code is to treat other Newsies like your family. And while you are a Newsie, this code of conduct applies to you too. Except, Romeo will still try to make you his girl.”

“That seems kind of messed up.”

“Ya know what I meant. Lots of Newsies still date each other, we ain’t related. It’s about loyalty and trust. Besides, Romeo always fails anyway.”

Sarah genuinely laughed at this.

“Race, I need to sell these papers if we’re going to end up at Jacobi’s anytime soon! You have to be quiet.”

“Why don’t you just sell those back, sweetheart? Don’t be so surprised you couldn’t sell as many papes as me? With those boring headlines you were hawking.”

“I wasn’t surprised. But I’m not giving up either.” She smiled warmly, with a glint of sarcasm in her eyes. “According to the code, apparently, you just have to wait.”

Race rolled his eyes dramatically and slumped down at the base of the lamppost. He placed his cigar back in his mouth and took off his hat, placing it in his lap. “Alright, darling, wake me up when yous finished.”

Sarah would like to tell herself she didn’t smile a bit when she saw the way his messy, blond curls fell across his forehead. She would like to tell herself that. But she’d be lying. And the whole point of today was not to lie, even to herself. She shook her head. One minute she wanted to strangle this boy, and the next? Well, she didn’t know what she wanted to do to him the next minute, but it definitely didn’t involve violence. No matter what else she felt about Racetrack Higgins, he wasn’t going to change and she wasn’t going to take a chance. She sighed in resignation and glanced over at him again.

The sunlight caressing his curls made them look spun from gold. His long eyelashes caught the light as well. The light spray of freckles across his nose clearer now that she wasn’t so distracted by his eyes. Whenever he looked at her, she felt almost caught in his gaze, too transfixed to look anywhere else. Sarah jolted out of her thoughts.

“ _Um. What the fuck was that_?” Sarah chided herself, uneasily. “ _We did not just notice all of those things. Okay? That never happened_.” She looked back over at Race, who was now actually asleep, and her heart melted. “ _Wow, he fell asleep fast. And he’s...nope, nope. We stopped, remember? No more of that_.”

Sarah shook her head again, frustrating with her sentimental mind and turned back to the task at hand. Maybe becoming a Newsie for a couple days wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Or maybe it was. She could feel herself getting emotionally attached to this boy, and she couldn’t risk letting herself be screwed over by the Newsies. “ _Again_.” Her subconscious reminded her. She nodded begrudgingly and was honest with herself for the first time since she met Race on the way to work. “ _It’s been less than 48 hours and I’m already swooning over some sweet-talking pretty boy Newsie. This was a bad idea_.” She let her romantic side get the best of her and stole another look at him. She sighed deeply. “ _Yeah, this was definitely a bad idea_.”

She pulled herself out of her thoughts, and got back to selling, eager to be done and go find Anna and the rest of the Newsies at Jacobi’s.

“Unemployment rates higher than ever! Up by 2%!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kenau - domineering woman, (bitch, hard-ass, you get the picture)  
> *Klerelijer - motherf*cker
> 
>  
> 
> Hello everyone! Sorry to be a couple days late on the update, I’m having some computer issues right now. Hopefully, all of that gets worked out and my computer is back to normal by tomorrow so I can finish editing the next update. As always, please leave kudos if you enjoyed the chapter and leave a comment down below! Have a wonderful day!


	9. At Jacobi's

Sarah was fed up. She was tired and grumpy, and maybe feeling a little bitchy. Once she had finished selling her papes, she had woken Race up and they went back to the deli. All she wanted was to eat in peace, but of course, Racetrack had to start yet another conversation defending his selling tactics.

“Look, I get it, okay. I don’t care what you do with your life, lie to sell all you want. Can we just agree to disagree? I want to eat this sandwich.” Sarah grumbled.

“Like I said before, sweetheart, it’s not lying.” Race complained.

“Uh, it kind of is.” Davey added. The other Newsies murmured their assent.

“It’s not! It’s just…” Race paused for a moment, thinking. Then, he spread his arms wide, as if indicating the newspaper headline. “Making the headline better.”

“You mean making a headline up. That’s lying.” Sarah countered Race shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, it’s a living. Some people ain’t got the choice to pick a job they like, sweetheart.”

“That’s kind of funny coming from you, isn’t it? A Newsie who went on strike?”

Race tilted his head, smirking slightly. “You seem to have a lot of things to say about the Newsies nowadays, penny for your thoughts?”

“You don’t have a penny, and no, I don’t have anything to say about the Newsies. You do what you have to. It’s just something I won’t.”

“Hey!” Race exclaimed, and then, realizing he spoke too quickly and had no snarky comeback prepared, responded meekly. “…I got a penny…”

Sarah rolled her eyes. She turned around and faced Jack at the table again Her sudden dismissal annoyed him greatly. He wanted to regain her attention, so he stood up and began to walk around the circle between their table and the rest of the Newsies, seemingly pandering to the other Newsies, asking for them to stand behind him.

“Well, lying or not, it’s a living what we do. An a rough one, but…”

He jumped onto a chair, which the Newsies gathered around and reached into his vest pocket. Sarah reluctantly turned around, which made his stomach turn with happiness. He made a show of pulling out a fresh cigar and placing it in between his teeth.

“It buys me cigars!”

He grabbed the unlit cigar between his fingers and pretended to blow smoke. He displayed his most charming smile, and tilted his head.

“That’s enough for me!”

He jumped off of the chair and strutted towards Sarah, internally rejoicing at having regained her focus. The boys next to Race snickered and pushed him around as he sallied back to his chair, straddling it and smirking at her. Sarah had already turned back around, but that didn’t bother him. He knew she was still distracted by him, or so he thought. When he sat down, her face was blank and unaffected. After a few seconds of nothing, she finally responded to him.

“So…you value cigars more than your moral integrity. Good to know.”

Now, at heart, Sarah knew why the Newsies did what they did. They had to exaggerate, or sometimes invent, headlines, to sell papes and make a living wage. She understood that. Lord knows she understood the temptation to do anything to survive. And she didn’t resent them for it. Far from it. Sarah did pity the Newsies for their situation in life. They basically had to lie to survive. However, she felt a lot sorrier for millions of other kids around New York, the ones without unions. Personally, it would have hurt her a lot more than some of them to lie to make money. Her parents had always taught her to be honest, and being forced into dishonesty to make ends meet would be another harsh blow to her dignity. It may even be a blow she couldn’t take: sacrificing her ideals, defying her dead parents, conforming to a corrupt system to get by. She wasn’t sure if her spirit could take that. So, she had refused to lie. But for her, this was only for a couple of days. She had an honest, steady job waiting. These kids had no other prospects, so she got it. They had no other choice. Yeah, if you are willing to be a little dishonest, life as a Newsie is pretty great compared to the rest of the city, but she didn’t resent them for that. However, the way Racetrack carried on, as if he was proud of his dishonesty: that bothered her. The way nothing mattered to him, the way pretty lies and sweet nothings rolled off of his tongue quicker than they could be dwelled upon disturbed her. It went against everything she had ever been taught, and it made her nervous. He made her nervous. Race’s face crumbled, but only for a moment, as always. To see Race’s true reaction to something, you had to study his face the exact second it occurred. If you looked too late, you would only the mask he put on every time. The mask of charming but snarky, go lucky Racetrack Higgins. This time, Sarah looked too late, and saw only the way he grinned now, having missed how crestfallen he had looked only seconds earlier. So, he chuckled, and twirled his cigar between his fingers.

“Listen, sweetheart, the cigars are one o’ many, many benefits. The first o’ which being: I’m alive. I’m sorry, darling, ya just might have to get used to the idea that not everybody’s got it as easy as you.”

Sarah scoffed. “Oh really? Not everyone’s as well off as me?”

“Nope, some people are really struggling out there, Ell’, it’s bad. You’re real lucky.”

“Really struggling, right? And I’m not.” Sarah’s voice was tense, her eyes fixated on Race’s, but devoid of any playfulness or joy.

The boys around them could sense Sarah’s emotional state, and silently prayed that Race would get the message and back off. This wasn’t a subject to joke about with her. But Race was having too much fun. She was engaging with him consistently, she wasn’t even trying to ignore him again. It was wonderful. He was too distracted by the bliss of having her attention all to himself that he failed to noticed how angry he was making her. But, as he continued bantering with her, he became insecure again.

“ _What if she rolls her eyes and stops talking to me again? I have to do something to keep her attention_.” He thought.

So, he stood up and swaggered over to the other Newsies, laughing. It was in that moment that he decided to say something he hadn’t said since the day he met her. Something he knew he shouldn’t say. But he was in too deep. He was so attention-starved by her that he just needed more. He was addicted to it: their exchanges. His jokes, her sassy rebuttals, the dialogue filled with flirtatiousness and clever wordplay was the only thing he could focus on. He craved it. He needed it. He needed her.

“Some people have it rougher than you, princess.” Sarah froze, and Race grinned wider. But she didn’t shout at him like last time, and when she spoke, her voice was even and calm.

“Do they really now?”

Race studied her profile, she was infuriatingly collected and unemotional.

“Yeah, princess, a lot of people is worse off than you. Not everybody lives like royalty, your Majesty, Miss ‘Yonson.”

He drawled out her foreign name, purposely butchering the non-English vowels, which he could actually say quite perfectly. With that, Sarah stood up. Race grinned widely and strode leisurely over to her to witness her response. She turned toward him slowly. He smirked as she was finally looking to address him, but his heart dropped when he looked in her eyes. The coy, playful gaze which he was so used to enjoying was gone, replaced with eyes that seethed anger and disgust.

“I would love to meet them, those people. Who exactly has it rougher than me?”

“Well, us, of course, sweetness. Ain’t it nice to sit down while you work?”

“Isn’t it nice to be out in the sun?”

They continued like this for several rounds, each challenging the other and prompting their response. It was the push and pull which they both engaged in. It was the exchanges that Race lived for. The ones that made his heart feel light and his stomach feel all fluttery. But this time, something was different. The words with which Sarah responded were typical to her usual comebacks, but they were devoid of emotion. While Race was smirking, grinning, and chuckling during their conversation, her face remained completely expressionless. She was deadpanning her responses, and some of the Newsies started to get concerned. They tried to tug at Race’s sleeve, whisper to him to cut it out, that Sarah clearly wasn’t in the mood to mess around that day. But Race was too absorbed with himself and his obsession with her to notice her. He wasn’t studying her in the moment, he was imagining her how he usually saw her. And he expected her to play along. He ceased circling and stepped up to her, chest to chest and leaned down. This stance, which they had been in so many times, which usually ended in being awkwardly interrupted. Staring at each others lips, heartbeats synchronizing, meeting her eyes again, the sexual tension hanging in the air: those moments where he stood close to her were some of the best of his life. He leaned down to her and tilted his head.

“Which one of us gets to work inside all day?” Sarah leaned closer, mimicking his motion and creating the stance of distant intimacy; like moments before where she was so close to him, and yet so far from ever closing the gap. She recreated this scene, but this time, instead of eyelashes fluttering and curls caressing her forehead, the only suppressed emotion in her eyes was rage. Her voice resounded across the hushed room, calm and even, but cold as ice.

“Which one of us has a union?”

The room had been quiet before, as the Newsies sat and listened to Race and Sarah bickering. Usually, during a confrontation like this, they would be picking sides and cheering on their selected person. However, they knew Sarah was angry, and Sarah being angry reminded them of Katherine when she was angry. So, being fairly intelligent young men, they elected to remain silent and watch the scene before them play out. Race’s eyes widened, and he stepped back. For a moment, the room was completely silent, and the tension thickened with every passing second. Race blinked, confused. He eventually opened his mouth to retort, but Sarah beat him to it. Her voice began to waver just slightly as she continued.

“Which one of us still has a job? Which one of us had their lives change for the better this year, huh?”

Her eyes darted pointedly to the boys around her, who were looking down. Her voice was now low and soft, mocking and then calmer again.

“Yeah, that must have been nice, wasn’t it? Which one of us got beat up by their supervisors?”

She gestured to her wrists, holding them up in front of his eyes, reminding Race of Roach’s actions. He winced, remembering the bruises on her arms, and he wrapped his fingers around her wrists gingerly, the same way he had when she encountered him on the street. But this time, she shook his hands away. He reached out again, desperately trying to apologize, but she placed her hands on his chest and shoved him away. Hard. He stared at her in shock, and in that moment, the blindfold of his obsession with her was lifted and he saw that she was truly angry and in pain. He cursed himself for not noticing earlier, but stood frozen.

“Ellie…” he breathed.

“No!”

The calm edge to Sarah’s voice disappeared. Her mask of apathy vanished, and all of the Newsies saw just how angry she was. Tears pooled in her eyes and turned in a circle, addressing all of them as she raised her voice, which became more broken with each sentence.

“Which one of us has job security? Pulitzer buys back your papes, if you don’t sell them. If I make any of the supervisors mad, I’m gone. I was unemployed for a while this year… thanks to you guys.”

She paused, glaring defiantly at the boys around her, watching the confusion settle over their faces.

“Yeah.” She affirmed, turning her tear stained face to a dejected looking Racetrack, “Thanks to you, and it’s not pleasant. I almost died, which means I know what it is to be desperate to survive. To be willing to do almost anything.”

The boys stared at her cheerlessly. Race had tears threatening to spill down his face, but she was so angry and frustrated, the words flowed from her heart to her mouth faster than she could stop them. Things she had promised herself she would never say, she now spat at the Newsies. Things which she had promised to hide away forever, she verbalized, in words filled with venom and bitterness.

“Which one of us isn’t sexually harassed on a daily basis? Has your boss ever tried to rape you? Huh? Has he? I didn’t fucking think so. You have no idea what’s it like to be me. You don’t know my story, you don’t know my family, and you don’t know me. YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW MY REAL NAME!”

She was breathing heavily, tears rushing down her face.

“None of you do…” she repeated slowly, “Except for Davey.”

All eyes turned to a very scared and very confused Davey Jacobs, who had been hiding behind Henry and Finch. The Newsies looked at Davey expectantly, waiting for him to enlighten them, but the poor boy just stuttered his disbelief and gestured wildly, attempting to communicate that he had no idea what she was talking about. Disappointed, they turned their attention back to Sarah, who now stood motionless in the center of the tables. She didn’t want to look at Race, but she forced herself to. She lifted her gaze and focused on him. His eyes were red and tears brimmed in his eyes. He did his best to wipe the moisture away before anyone noticed, but she did. When he felt her staring, he met her gaze. She looked almost scared, angry, defensive, but the edges of her mouth quivered. She was truly sorry for yelling at them all, and now that she was done ranting and being angry about her life, she felt the sadness she usually carried with her sink in again. And, when Race Higgins met her eyes, the sadness in her multiplied. There was no way to describe the current look in his eyes. Shocked, sad, melancholy? The adjectives don’t even begin to do it justice. Heartbroken. That was the only word she could think of to describe the way he was looking at her. Heartbroken. Sarah looked around her, and began to process everything that she had just said.

“ _I told them about Roach. I told them about the time he tried to rape me. That was two months ago, why would I bring that up now? Oh God, I told them that Ellie wasn’t my real name. I just told them that I lied to them_.”

As the implications of her words dawned on her, panic washed over her features.

“I...I have to go.” She stumbled backwards and staggered towards the door.

“Wait, Ellie! I mean Janssen, I mean…” Race regained his ability to move, and dashed in front of her, blocking her way.

“Darling, please wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“Race, please let me go…” Sarah’s voice was breaking, her throat felt like it was made of stone. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and she tried to step around him, but he blocked her again.

“No! It’s dark and it’s not safe out there. Please, just talk to me. What just happened in there? You said something about Roach. And your family? Let me help…”

Race pleaded with her, lifting her chin with his finger, trying to look in her eyes. He lifted her chin just enough to read her expression one last time, before she disappeared into the night. Panic. Panic and terror.

“NO!” She pushed him away and dashed out the front door.

“WAIT!” Race yelled, “PLEASE, PLEASE WAIT!”

He rushed to the front door and flung it open. He raced outside, and tried to follow her. But it was too late. She was already gone, hidden by the cover of night.  
Alone, again, on the streets of Manhattan, she ran to get away from a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm back ;) I'm sorry to say that I will not be posting regularly in the near future. I just started college, and my schedule is busier than ever. I am working on writing other works, and this one doesn't excite me the way it used to. I plan to finish the series, and I have the story line planned out. But it will take several months. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. And remember, you are loved, you are special, and you matter. You are you and that is more than enough. Have a wonderful day!


End file.
